


birthday cake: tumblr mini fics

by brightly_brightly



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Mini fics, jfk: just for kicks, just dribbles, scratch pad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightly_brightly/pseuds/brightly_brightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a tumblr prompt going around to write mini fics of the letters below. I did them based on asks by anons and am posting here for kicks. </p><p>No correspondence to any of my other RxS fics, except that Smol the cat appears.</p><p>A. Fire/flames <br/>B. Sharing a drink. <br/>C. A moment’s respite. <br/>D. Waking up.<br/> E. Signing a document.<br/> F. Foreign location <br/>G. A fistfight. <br/>H. Greatest fear. <br/>I. Broken glass. <br/>J. Making a speech/toast.<br/> K. On the edge of consciousness.<br/> L. A stolen kiss. <br/>M. When it rains/snows/storms.<br/> N. The color green. <br/>O. The stars or space. <br/>P. While driving or in/around a car. <br/>Q. One missed call. <br/>R. By the water <br/>S. Music [send a lyric] <br/>T. An obscure AU. [specify] <br/>U. Coming home. <br/>V. An abandoned/empty place.<br/> W. Waiting impatiently for something. <br/>X. A flash of anger. <br/>Y. Tears. <br/>Z. An ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A. Fire/flames

Just as Root and Shaw duck for cover, half the wooden crates in the building burst into flames.

“Dammit! They boobytrapped the place,” Shaw growls.

“When I said we should introduce more forms of temperature play, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Now really isn’t the time for a smartass comment, Root.”

They run for the car, they already have their evidence, so no big deal.

“I think I got singed. You’ll have to lick my wounds when we get home.”

“I’d say shut up, but--"

“That never works.”

Root clicks her seatbelt into place and they speed away, the warehouse puffing up into flames behind them.

“If you make it all the way back to the station without hitting on me, I’ll lick your wounds and… whatever else you want.”

Root smirks and sinks back in her seat, “deal.”


	2. B. Sharing a drink , X. A flash of anger (combined requests)

Sameen Shaw knows she’s a lucky woman. In many ways. 

One of those ways is her sexbuddy/ workbuddy/ roommate/ life partner’s stamina. Root’s good for at least thirty minutes of Olympic Freestyle Oral before she needs a break. Shaw, currently handcuffed to their headboard and blindfolded, has decided that today’s performance will earn Root a 9.3 out of 10, at least. 

Root’s doing that thing where she uses her fingers and her mouth and works Shaw alllllll the way to the edge before pulling back, making her cool off a bit, and then going back in for more. The result: Shaw thinks she might actually be foaming at the mouth from desperation. Her heartbeat and breathing are both definitely erratic. And when Root finally finally finally keeps the motion and pressure and everything jussst right, Shaw feels like she’s tumbling right down Niagara Falls and getting plunged under the water beneath: she shouts and gasps for breath and clutches the bars of the headboard like they’re a life vest. 

When Root peels the blindfold off her eyes, the low lights of the room reveal a flushed face and smug grin.

“Kiss,” Shaw demands, she wants to taste that grin asap.

Root complies and kisses her long and slow while she unclips the cuffs. While Shaw rubs some feeling back into her wrists, Root flops across her lap and grabs Shaw’s glass of wine. She helps herself to half of it.

Shaw doesn’t catch the lil sneak until it’s too late. A brief flash of anger zips through her because Root KNOWS she hates sharing drinks, or food. She breathes out the anger. It’s ok, she tells herself, it’s just a glass of wine, Root isn’t trying to disrespect her boundaries.

She still gives Root a smack on the ass. Precedent.

Root yelps. “What was that for?!” 

“You just got your germs all over my glass,” she grumbles.

Root laughs and laughs until the corners of her eyes are wet.

“Sweetie,” she gasps, “I’ve had a mouthful of your pussy for the last half hour, those were definitely your germs.”

Shaw shrugs and reaches over to Root’s side of the bed to steal Root’s wine glass. See how she likes that.

“Yeah, my germs, that you took, like my wine.” Shaw’s not really mad, the anger was just a little spark. Now she just wants to grumble.

Grumbling feels good sometimes, even after an equilibrium-wrecking orgasm. 

Root pries her wineglass out of Shaw’s hand and sets it next to its mate. She brings her face close to Shaw’s, until she’s nosing Shaw’s cheek right by her ear. Her lips are so, so close.

“If those germs of yours are so important to you, I guess I better give them back, huh?”

Shaw nods. “It would only be right.”

Root presses her mouth to Shaw’s cheek in a warm kiss, then shifts so they’re kissing properly. She tastes like wine and salt and so many other exquisite things.

“Next time you steal from me I’ll handcuff you to a chair and take cruel, cruel revenge.”

“Promises, promises.”


	3. C. A moment’s respite.

“Shush shush shush, there you go baby, good job,” Root croons, easing the ballgag out of Shaw’s mouth, “You just take a lil break and I’ll grab you some gatorade.”

“Ahhhh,” Shaw moans and works her jaw, “does ‘a lil break’ mean I can take the vibrator out for a second?”

Root’s giggle echoes from the kitchen, “of course not!”


	4. D. Waking up.

After a day of fighting and saving lives and running almost half a mile straight in pursuit of a juiced up triathlete, Shaw is downright tuckered out. She eats supper. And second supper, and cracks open a beer. Before she can drink it though, she sets it on the coffee table and joins Root on the couch. Shaw means to drink her beer, honestly, but Root is playing Evil Dead with the cheats OFF, and the music is so soothing.

Shaw doesn’t mean to fall asleep, or to migrate in her sleep, until her head is comfortably pillowed on Root’s lap, with Root’s arm resting on her shoulder as she kills zombies or whatever.

She wakes up with a stiff neck. Root is stroking her hair and watching a movie, and SIPPING HER BEER.

Shaw yawns and stretches.

“Hey sleepy,” Root doesn’t stop petting her head. 

“That was my beer, a reward for all my hard work today.”

Root brushes her thumb across Shaw’s bottom lip, “honey, if it’s a reward you want, I can give you something much more satisfying than a beer.”

Shaw stretches her arms over her head, across Root’s lap, and Root grabs her wrists and holds them together. She fondly studies Shaw’s sleep rumpled face. 

“You can even have two rewards…”

Shaw grins. It’s on.


	5. G. A fistfight.

To be fair, she did shoot him first. Should have expected the bulletproof vest, really. 

The FBI agent barely flinches, rushes her and tries to grab her arms. She dodges. He starts to throw a punch. 

The first one clips her cheek and her head spins a little. 

“Who punches a girl in the face? Asshole.”

“You just shot me!” He gasps, rushing her again.  
Root pivots on her heel and tases him in the neck. There are some things a vest can’t protect you from.

“Next time, use your words,” she says as he drops.


	6. H. Greatest fear. (Root)

Not many people can claim to have survived both their greatest fears with their sanity mostly intact. Root is not most people. Root’s sanity was never quite intact. Maybe that, she reasons, is how she survived.

Greatest Fear Number One A: the death of god

 The Machine had imploded in her battle with Samaritan. Both AIs had died, but only one had been reborn.  
 There had been months of silence, an era without god, and Root had been alone. No Sameen, no Reese, no Harold, no Bear or Fusco. Just her own dark thoughts and a dwindling supply of bandages and a doctor who spoke almost no English, but was generous with the morphine.

 The Machine had been reborn, and blossomed into something greater that she had ever been before, greater than even her simulations could have predicted.

 But it took months. and months and months and Root was alone.

 She tried not to talk to herself, not to talk to the radio or the tv in room. She knew it meant she was crazy, but since when had that ever mattered?

 To talk to a god who doesn’t talk back, who doesn’t know you or share jokes and a history with you, to talk to a god who is probably dead and just get silence… Root didn’t know how religious people did it.

 She didn’t know, at the end, if she had shed more blood or tears. 

 Sameen came and checked her out of the hospital, a hospital in DC.

 Sameen had looked at her with all the wonder and admiration she herself had often shown the Machine.

 “She’s alive, she stole your vocal patterns, which is just the kind of creepy you’d like, but she’s alive.” Shaw had said, once they were in her car and on their way…. well, to the future. 

 She had survived and Root had survived and now Root knew that the death of god wouldn’t break her.

.....

Greatest Fear Number One B: losing another loved one and not getting an answer

 Root knew how that story went, knew what kind of hole it left in a person, to only know that someone was gone and not know where or why or how.

 When Samaritan had spirited Sameen away, The Machine had been unable or unwilling to help.

 I would kill you, Root found herself thinking, I would kill you to find her (whether she was addressing the Machine or herself, she couldn’t say).

 The nights were cold and empty. The days were cold and empty.

 Root wore identities like flowers in her hair and made jokes and shot her guns and ate food and all the time like a second shadow she was followed by the absence. Shaw.

 Root knew, she could feel it in her blood, that if she didn’t find Shaw, or at least get an answer, she was going to start doing Very Destructive Things. She could feel a dark sea rising inside her, black waves, unfathomable depths, bleak and hungry.

 This is going to end very badly, she told The Machine.

 It was always going to, She answered.

 I won’t fight for you without her, Root threatened.

 The Machine did not attempt to call that bluff.

 and Sameen came back.   
 and Root knew that she could survive losing her, but she couldn’t LIVE without her. 

 Months later, on the other side of the war, Shaw held her hand again and said, “I would have kept going without you, but… I didn’t really want to.” 

 And Root wondered if a) sociopaths could have Greatest Fears and b) if maybe Losing Each Other wasn’t a Greatest Fear that she and Shaw had in common.

 “I’ll need your help with a mission,” Root said, “It may take the next thirty to forty years, if we’re lucky…”

 Shaw simply nodded and put the car into gear, “Bear comes too.”


	7. J. Toast/speech. Someone specified they wanted Fusco, so…

Fusco hauls himself out of his chair and stands up to face the rest of the room. Heclears his throat, raises his plastic glass of soda water.

“All right everybody, settle down. As the old man, I get to make a speech.”

“Aw, pops,” Lee says, but only halfway pretends to be embarrassed.

Fusco grins. He knows that the little earpiece he now wears all the time, under the guise of needing a little extra help with his hearing, will pick up his speech and transmit it to the few friends who, for obvious reasons, couldn’t make it.

“Tonight I am a very proud father. My boy is graduating high school and leaving for boot camp. He’s gonna be a Marine. Now I’ve known some very fine people who were Marines. And I know my son is already a fine person and one day he’ll be a great man. I’ve never been prouder of anyone than I am of you kid,”

Fusco raises his glass, “To Lee.”

Everyone cheers and drinks….. including Reese, Root, and Shaw, who are listening from the hideout.


	8. L 1. A stolen kiss.

The way Root sees it, she is most definitely not entitled to kiss Shaw whenever she wants. Kisses from Shaw are a gift. They’re special. Even the hard, forceful, bruising ones. Root savors them and plays them back to herself over and over and over.  

But tonight, Shaw took her drinking and they beat up half a dozen drug dealers and Shaw *slammed* her up a brick wall for adrenaline fueled sex and they lit one of the drug dealers’ cars on fire like a bonfire. 

Pretty much a magical evening. 

So maybe it’s the tequila shots, or maybe it’s the romantic pop and crackle of flames roaring up off the car, but Root decides maybe, just maybe, she can get away with it.

 Root ducks over real fast and steals a kiss, just a little one, from the corner of Shaw’s mouth.  She rights herself immediately and pretends it never happened.

 “Ughh,” Shaw groans and grabs her by the lapels, pulling her down again, “get back here,” 

This time, the kiss is definitely NOT stolen.


	9. L 2. A stolen kiss. requested with O. The stars or space.

Astronaut First Class Sameen Shaw is a very serious woman. She is a military officer and she serves her country, and her planet, in space. She wears her hair pulled back in an efficient but not uptight ponytail. She works hard, works out hard, and sleeps hard. She has a lot of pictures of dogs taped around her bunk.

Her crew is afraid of her and they respect her. But she knows they wish she were different. “If she’s just crack a smile once in a while,” they whisper. “Old iron pants,” they call her. “Why can’t she be nicer, just like a normal level of nice?”

Shaw doesn’t care what her crew says about her, as long as they do their jobs. 

Head Technician Root (just Root, her dogtags don’t even have a last name on them) is sort of a celebrity. Nabbed for hacking the pentagon at the tender age of 22, she is basically a computer whisperer. She has been trained to work with every branch of the government and military, but she chose NASA. Chose space. “Significantly less human interaction” she’d said, like that was the grandest of prizes.

Everyone on board Machine One, shuttle to Mars, knows that one) The Machine pretty much ‘likes’ Root the best and two) Root pretty much likes Shaw the best. Why else would she hang around the fitness station every time Shaw needs to work out, or offer to share her food rations, or get the Machine to play Saw’s favorite music?

Astronaut Shaw is not oblivious. She just thinks Root wants to sweet talk her into making a pit stop at one of those backwater planets where weirdass terraformer cults sell illegal human/robot hybrid parts. 

Technician Root has no such agenda (she has Ways of getting what she needs from those places… how else do you think she got her bionic ear?). No, Root’s only agenda is to keep the crew and the Machine safe (NOT in that order) and to have anti-gravity sex with Astronaut Shaw.

It is not their first mission together. Oh no. Four years ago, Shaw was a trainee on satellite mission and Root was working it too and Root threatened to weld Shaw’s face if she didn’t do… some thing, Shaw forgets now, she was distracted by the possibility of having her face welded.

As soon as they landed on a planet that wasn’t earth, Shaw had socked Root *hard* and they’d both been confined to quarters for 48 hours because of it.

Now Shaw is in charge and she keeps a strict eye on Root. Annoyingly, Root really is the best. And she keeps doing nice things for Shaw. Like scheduling her extra hours in the rec room and the gym and giving up her weekly sauna hour because she knows Shaw loves the sauna.

Finally after Root hand delivers a box of girl scout cookies, meticulously hoarded in her small bundle of personal effects, Shaw can’t take it anymore.

“Why are you so nice to me now? You know I’m not changing my course even a millimeter for you, right?”

“Oh sweetie,” Root sighs, handing Shaw a sleeve of the chocolate ones, “I would never *ever* ask you to change for me.”

She gives Shaw a quick peck on the cheek and walks away, leaving Shaw with a lapful of cookies and head full of New Ideas.


	10. M. When it rains/snows/storms.

“Nope,” Shaw digs her fists into the pocket of her duster and walks faster, dodging as many puddles as she can.

Root doesn’t even break her stride, slips up beside her with an umbrella. The rain picks up, so does Shaw’s ire.

“But you love superhero movies.”

“I don’t. And if I did, there’s no way I would ever–”

“But Shaw. You’re so flexible. No one else is fit for this mission.”

Shaw looks up at her, shakes her head.

“Re-enacting the upside-down rain kiss from that Spiderman movie is NOT a mission.”

Root flickers her eyebrow.

When they show up at the new base of operations half an hour late and completely drenched, Reese and Finch know better than to ask.


	11. N. The color green

“Mmm, no,” Root decides, “I don’t like the grey.”

“You didn’t like the black or the red or the blue either.”

“And the white was too blah.”

Root sighs mightily, “I wish we could have left these details to the contractor.”

“What would you have told her? ‘Hi, I’m an obscenely wealthy homeowner and I’d like you to trick out this custom walk-in sextoy closet.’?” 

“I’m pretty sure that contractor plays for at least one of our teams, I don’t think she would have minded.”

Shaw shrugs, “I like the green. It’s soothing. Matches with most of the toys.” 

Root tosses her handful of paint chips down on the table, “green it is then. Now, you promised to help me do the calculations for the recessed spotlights.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, “This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”

“No, sweetie. *I’m* the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”

 

BONUS SNIPPET:

Moving in together, it turns out, is not without its share of horrifying surprises.

“Root.”

“mmm?”

“Why is the medicine cabinet full of drugs?”

“That’s what it’s for, sweetie, to store the drugs,”

“Yeah drugs like theraflu and advil, not mescaline and meth and coke and E and K and acid tabs and whatever that jar of powder is…”

“Angel dust.”

“Angel dust. Ok. ok, Root, are you some kind of druggie because I think if we’re going to share …. a bathroom, living space, mortgage, thing… I should be in the know here.”

“Oh Sameeeeen. They’re my insurance policies. You never know when you’re going to need to frame someone for possession.”

“That’s… idiotically clever.”

“mmm, I guess I should lock it though. Wouldn’t want any future cats we might get to find their way in there…”

“WE ARE NOT GETTING—”

“ok ok, wipe your fingerprints off that crack pipe and put it away and then you can scold me.”

“Whu–”

“Run along. I’ll just go into the bedroom and prepare myself for a long, stern tongue lashing."

“oh my god.”

“yes, probably,”

Shaw locks the medicine cabinet. Her girlfriend is the weirdest.


	12. P. While driving or in/around a car.

“Oh my god Root oh my god oh my god ohhhh–”

Making Shaw lose her shit is pretty much Root’s favourite thing about giving road head.

Shaw keeps one hand on the wheel and pats at Root’s head with the other. The angle is hard on Root’s back and neck but she didn’t spend forty-five minutes winding up her girl with filthy magical dirty talk just to let this opportunity pass them by. 

Shaw is so obedient when she’s trying not to crash the car. She jerks her hips and whines but the car never swerves or strays from the even 55mph speed. 

Shaw reaches over and turns the radio on, something low and thumpy rolls through the car. Root hums in time to is, the reverberations making Shaw whimper and fight not to roll her hips.

Sameen is so gifted at multi-tasking. 

Root pulls away from Shaw’s lap for a second, “Take the long way home.”


	13. Q. One missed call.

It’s pelting rain and gunfire in equal measure. Shaw is soaked, but at least she’s not shot. 

John went offline hours ago. No idea if he made it out. No idea if she’ll make it out.

Beside her, Root carefully lays pristine lines of explosive and charger. Root is usually only this fastidious when she's got a computer keyboard under her fingertips ... or Shaw. This is going to be a really beautiful explosion.

Root gives her a grin and a thumbs-up: it’s go time.

They leap up and charge away from the outside of the building as fast as they can in the rain and the shooting.

Root’s phone buzzes at the most inopportune time, distracting her just enough for a bullet to catch her in the outer thigh.  
She keeps moving, hampered by the bloody mess that is her leg. Sensing Root is no longer beside her, Shaw spins around gracefully and trots back to help support Root, to provide some cover as they hop/drag themselves behind a shipping container.  
The building blows. Magnificent. Root can tell the explosion turns Shaw on a little bit. 

They hold off the enemy for a solid fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of Root losing blood and Shaw losing patience and both of them losing bullets.

It’s a close call when Superintendent Fusco and the boys show up and round up the twenty odd mafia goons. 

Shaw carries Root to the tactical van, cuts her jeans off (ignores Root’s barrage of filthy comments), disinfects where the bullet grazed her girl, and patches her up. She hands Root the one towel and wraps her Bear’s blanket.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says…. Root’s teeth chatter in response.

Shaw is a grumpy, cold, soaking wet mess as she drives them off into the dusk.

“Oh,” Root murmurs from the back, “I have a missed call. It’s Rachel…. She left a voicemail….”

Silence. Shaw half wonders if Root has passed out.

“You okay back there?”

“We… we got the house, Shaw. They accepted our offer!”

Shaw catches Root’s eye in the rearview and grins at her. 

Turned out to be a good day after all. Even if Root did bleed all over the van again.


	14. S. “I’m falling so I’m taking my time on my ride”

Root doesn’t know when exactly she starts falling in love. She’s aware of it the way she becomes aware of waking up: fuzzy around the edges, then a blossoming clarity, until the world is real and tangible and everywhere– and her dreams, the worlds of seconds ago, are just clouds on the distant horizon.  

She knows it happens, happened, is still happening, when Shaw looks at her like she’s not an evil genius, like she’s not an untrustworthy criminal, like she’s not a serial killer, like she’s not a zealot. 

Shaw looks at her, annoyed and exasperated, and rolls her eyes. In that moment, Root is just a doofy woman trying to impress her crush with truly cheesy pick up lines.

There are few things she has ever wanted to be more. 

 Shaw shakes her head, “you’re a real nerd, you know that?” 

Root grins. Yeah. She’s falling in love, and if it means she can get more of those… expressions… out of Shaw, she’s going to do her damnedest to make it last as long as possible. Maybe for the rest of her life.


	15. T 1. an obscure AU (requested: amnesia)

“Sorry, sweetie, you’ll have to refresh my memory. I’m so forgetful these days.” 

“I said do you want vanilla or chocolate pudding. These days? Root you literally just woke up.”

Root wiggles to sit upright in the hospital bed. One of her wrists is restrained and not in the fun way.

She stares at the two foil-lidded plastic cups in front of her: chocolate or vanilla?

Shaw watches Root’s gaze do a tennis match, back and forth, back and forth, between the two cups. Root looks so defeated. Her shoulders slump.

“I’m not sure…. I’m not sure I know what this is.”

“It’s pudding, Root.”

“Yes, but….” Root’s voice is small, “what is pudding?”

Shaw nearly faints. The next few hours are a blur. Brain scans. Tests. Flashcards. A neurology and psych team consults and consults. Things far, far beyond Shaw’s level of training.

Finally the verdict comes down, a hushed voice from a doctor who can hardly believe it himself. First he tells Root, then he tells Shaw.

“Your wife, Ms Shaw-”

“Not wife, partner.”

“Your partner, then, has a very aggressive, very specific form of food amnesia. She has forgotten food.”

“ALL food?” 

“Yes. She simply does not remember what foods are or how they taste or if she likes them.”

Shaw’s hands clench into fists inside her hoody, “will she recover?”

“There’s no way of knowing. I’ve never seen a case of food amnesia before. The best I can suggest is to introduce her to one new food a day and see if she remembers it.”

Shaw sighs. Food amnesia? It seems a fate crueler than death. Root won’t even be able to remember apples! Or coffee! Or those old man toffees she likes to keep in her pockets and suck on!

Root grumbles from the bed, “that white pudding is gross. I prefer the brown one.”

Shaw eats the vanilla for her.

“Mmm, I do remember one thing I like to eat,” Root pipes up, “but it’s not a food.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, “not right now, Root, we’re in the middle of the greatest damn tragedy of your life.”


	16. T 2. An obscure AU (mutant power)

“This is SO annoying.”

Shaw tosses her fancy noise-cancelling headphones on the couch and fishes the industrial strength ear plugs out of her ears. Root gently pats her arm and passes her a croissant, which she tears into.

“I can even hear their stupid thoughts on tv.”

“It’s kind of ironic,” Root comments, topping up their morning coffees, “I always expected to be the one with the voice in my head in this relationship.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What, ‘relationship' ? Sameen, we’ve talked about–”

“No, 'voices.’ They’re not voices! They’re thoughts. Other people’s thoughts. And most of them are banal and stupid… or about tits. My tits, too often.”

“Shush shush shush,” Root coos, soothing Shaw with a gentle hand on her shoulder, “She’s looking for a cure.”

“I don’t care about a cure, I just… want some peace and quiet. The only thoughts I’m interested are my own… and… and sometimes yours.” 

Root smiles, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Anti-telepathy drugs?”

“Cabin in the woods. 100 miles away from people. Just you me and Bear. A whole weekend.”

Shaw tries not to let it show how pleased she is.

“And Sameen, you can shoot stuff.” 

Shaw grins. Root’s the best (but she doesn’t need to know that).

“You’re thinking I’m the best right now, aren’t you.”

“Shut up Root, I’m the one with the brain invading super power here.”

Root smirks. She hands Shaw another croissant.


	17. U. Coming home.

Root sighs so long it might just be a yawn. She unlocks the eight locks on the door, drags her suitcase in. The house is stiflingly hot, for Vermont in August. 

The hallway light is on, and a weird smell- acrid and thick- flows from the kitchen.

Root leaves her bag at the foot of the stairs and wanders into the kitchen. Pots and pans and plastic tubs of chemicals EVERYWHERE. Shaw’s bent over something on the counter. Shaw is wearing: black underpants, a sports bra, safety goggles, a surgical mask, and a long lead apron. also a fine layer of sweat.... Root decides she looks downright lickable in that get-up.

“Hey baby, watcha cookin’?” 

Shaw doesn’t look up. 

“New dry explosives. Had to turn the air off so it doesn’t get into the ducts.” 

“Mmm, yummy.”

“There’s lasagne in the fridge. Just made coffee. So sit down…. Tell me how many people ya had to torture this time. Spare me no details.”

Root grins. It’s good to be home.


	18. W. Waiting impatiently for something.

Smol wiggles on her back on the cozy over-stuffed arm chair. It has been three naps since Moms locked the bedroom door. At least Glasses Mom had the decency to look remorsefully at her before shepherding Strict Mom inside. 

 In those three naps, there have been bumps, thumps, moans, repetitive whacking sounds, squeals, giggles, and a lot of happy swearing. 

 Smol is glad they’re having fun. Moms work too hard. Always on the run, getting cuts and scratches and bruises from Bad Guys, hardly ever stopping to take a break. She eats better than they do- and she eats cat food out of a little tin.

 Speaking of the little tin… Smol rolls over, stretches, and sinks her claws into the back of the chair. It’s feeding time. Her bowl is empty. Her kibble tray is also empty. This is frankly… unacceptable.

 Smol scratches a bit, just until there are some decent scratch marks. Moms know the rules. They might need to mate, but she needs to eat.

 Smol yells. 

 The only sound from the locked room is a chuckle.

 Smol yells again. This time she jumps up and marches over to their door. She slides her paw under the door and screams until they stop making those wet sloppy smacky mating sounds.

 Strict Mom opens the door. She is walking very VERY stiffly. She has all kinds of marks on her bare body. Maybe Glasses Mom got hungry and scratched her up. It is a fool-proof technique.

 “Sorry” Strict Mom whispers, giving her a tin and a half of the good stuff and a scoop of kibble. Smol leaps up and finally starts eating.

 She kisses Smol on the head and limps back to the bedroom.

Smol sniffles a mouthful of food, they just better finish before breakfast time rolls around. Or Strict Mom won’t be the only sore one….


	19. Y. Tears.

In the heated aftermath of a particularly intense bondage session, Root finds herself caught completely off guard.

“Whoa,” She cups Shaw’s flushed cheek in her hand, “You’re crying.” 

Shaw, sprawled casually across the mattress, hiccups and wipes at her eyes, “so?”

“That’s it? ‘So’? I made you cry. You’re not like… freaked out by this?”

“Root. I’m human, I have tear ducts and chemical reactions. I cry sometimes. 'Specially when something feels really good, mmm, as good as all that did...” 

Root can’t quite shut her mouth. 

“Don’t make that face,” Shaw leans in and kisses her, smearing tears on both their cheeks, “you just got me really good is all.” 

Root grins as the kiss tapers off, “Did I fuck some feelings into you?” She jokes. 

“No. But give me a minute and I’ll fuck all the feelings OUT of you.”

Root’s eyebrow game switches from awed to challenging; “Bring it.”


	20. Z. An ending.

Root shoulders her satchel and takes one last, fond look around. The walls are bare now, the drywall has been patched from that time Shaw’s elbow went through it. The floors are bare too and the cupboards empty. Root sighs. In a few hours, some moving men will bring a whole bunch of bland, earth toned furniture up here and the apartment will become a safehouse.  
   
Safe. That’s one thing this place has always been for her, from the moment she and Shaw moved, for five exquisite years, until right now, as she works the keys off her key ring and stuffs them in the envelope for Finch. 

 The apartment is eerily silent. No Smol kicking around looking for food. Root checks her watch, Smol will be in the truck with Shaw, circling the block, waiting for her. The ride to Vermont will be loud enough, Root imagines, to wash away this silence.  
   
Root sighs. She has endured so many endings in her life and so few of them have dovetailed into beginnings. Most of them have been acrid and painful. But now… Root thinks this may just be the sweetest goodbye she’s ever tasted. 

In her, ear, the gentle murmuring of her other other half reminds her of all the things to come:

 ARE YOU READY?

 “Yes,” Root whispers, “I think… I think I’ve been ready for this my whole life.” 

 THEN LET’S GO. PRIMARY ASSET SHAW DOES NOT LIKE TO BE KEPT WAITING.

 Root smirks, heads for the door, “don’t I know it.” 

 …. The End


End file.
